World Turned Upside Down
by calliope821
Summary: Roy knew immediately who was responsible: Shadows. One Shadow in particular. Rated T for character death.
1. A Succession of Unexpected Deaths

**A/N: I know, another death fic, but the plot bunnies won't leave me alone. This one won't be quite as depressing, I promise.**

**This is more of a 'sneak peak' since I probably won't work much on this until Fallen Heroes is finished. Trying for a different tone/feel with this one, as will shortly become obvious. Let me know what you think: does it work or not? Why/why not? Any thoughts at all. I'm also open to suggestions since I'm not really sure where to go from here; so if you have an idea just PM me. Oh, and review. Because I love reviews :)**

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><p>The murder of Oliver Queen took everybody completely by surprise.<p>

The billionaire was found in his penthouse, his bloody corpse draped over a coffee table like an old towel. His body sported numerous knife wounds, including the slash to his throat that had actually killed him. The offending weapon wasn't found. The apartment showed no signs of forced entry, no evidence that anyone besides the victim had been there. Whoever had done this was a professional.

Needless to say, the media attacked the story like rabid dogs fighting over a piece of meat. Everyone wanted the details, the latest speculations about the killer, the statements from heartbroken coworkers and family members. It was the hottest headline of the year: Multibillionaire Brutally Murdered in Own Home: Police Mystified.

Of course, the Daily Planet covered the story as well. The company had to keep up with the competition. The assignment was given to Lois, who immediately went to rub it in Clark's face. Finally, _she _would get to cover the big story instead of him! Take that, Smallville!

It was all Clark could do to keep from being sick when she told him what the story was. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach.

It didn't take long for the rest of the League to find out. For most of them, it was almost exactly the same: no warning, nothing but the headline glaring at them from the TV screen or front page of the newspaper.

An emergency meeting in the Watchtower was called. Everyone was in shock (and in Dinah's case, denial) and somehow, amid all the confusion, a certain covert operations team and an ex-sidekick were jostled out of the picture before anyone had a chance to tell them what had happened.

So they found out the same way everyone else did.

Roy knew immediately who was responsible: Shadows. One Shadow in particular. Cheshire.

Lex Luthor owed him a solid; it only took one phone call to wheedle information about the assassin's whereabouts out of him. Roy didn't get the feeling that villains were too loyal to each other.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that he was going after Cheshire. He was going to enjoy his revenge.

Two days later, another headline: 19-Year-Old Charged With Murder, Awaiting Trial. No one in the media suspected that the death of Jade Nguyen at the hands of Roy Harper was related to the murder of Oliver Queen. Robin didn't even have to read the story to put the pieces together.

_That idiot, _he thought. _What were you thinking, Roy?_ Fear for his friend filled his insides, unsettling him. He had to tell the others. _No way this thing can end well._

Roy Harper never made it to trial. Three weeks later, another news story appeared, covering the recent prison riots and attempted mass breakout from the Central City Penitentiary. Police opened fire, and six prisoners were killed. The story stated that a full inquiry would be made into the matter, and proceeded to list the names of the victims. The last name listed was Roy Harper, age 19, with a reference to the story three weeks previous about the murder charge.

The media continued to speculate on the identity and motive of Oliver Queen's killer. Never coming close.

Robin thought the world must have been turned upside down. While the media buzzed with sick excitement and the League scrambled to find some sort of a solution, Robin and the others could do nothing but sit there and wonder: _Why?_

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><p><strong>Like I said, I'm fairly open to ideas. Hope to see some PM's in my inbox soon ;) and review alerts too, of course!<strong>


	2. Investigating

**A/N: Okay, so this story is taking off in a way I totally did not expect. The tone in this chapter is a little bit more personal than in the first one, so if that throws anyone off I'm sorry. I tried to write this the same way, kind of a police-report sounding deal, but I guess that only worked with the first part. Cool, whatever. R&R :)**

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><p>Two months went by, somehow. The media continued reporting 'news' on the deaths of Oliver Queen, Jade Nguyen and Roy Harper, but with so little known about two of them and no new developments in the murder investigations, the stories started running out of steam. They were no longer front-page headlines.<p>

Dinah Lance temporarily resigned from active Justice League duty, and no one had seen her since. No one bothered her; they figured she needed her space and time away from them, needed to deal with this on her own.

The team was starting to get over what had happened. They were coping. With all the excitement starting to die down, at least it wasn't shoved in their faces every waking hour anymore. That helped. A little.

No one expected the media—or anyone outside the League, for that matter—to make the connection between the three deaths. No one expected what happened next; which is precisely why it happened.

Dick caught a glimpse of the headline when Alfred opened the paper at breakfast that morning: Late Billionaire Oliver Queen Confirmed To Be Secret Identity of Superhero Green Arrow. He spluttered, nearly choking on his cereal, and snatched the paper out of the butler's hands.

"Master Richard! Really—"

"Sorry, Alfred," Dick said as he furiously scanned through the story. The details were surprisingly accurate. They mentioned Roy/Red Arrow too. This was bad. This was _dis_-asterous. _How did they know? Who told them?_ If someone outside the circle knew, the whole League could become jeopardized.

Hurriedly he folded the paper and stuffed it in his backpack. "Right," he said to an utterly bewildered Alfred. "I'll need about two minutes to get changed. We have to go to Mount Justice."

"Master Richard, school begins in half an hour. I really do think—"

"I can't go to school today, Alfred. I have to take care of this _now._"

Alfred sighed. "I will go get the car, then."

In spite of himself, Dick grinned. "Thanks, Alfred!" He ran out of the kitchen, the butler following quickly. He doubted it would take Master Richard a full two minutes to change.

Later, at Mount Justice:

"Got it!" Robin exclaimed, voice echoing through the empty mountain. He had been there for hours trying to hack the files of every newspaper and station that had reported on the discovery of Green Arrow's secret identity. After trawling through gigabytes of the selfsame data, he finally managed to trace the story back to its source: The Daily Planet.

_Clark, _he fumed. _Stupid Kryptonian couldn't keep his mouth shut. _

He sent a quick email to Bruce, who was at the office today, letting him know what he'd just found. Bruce responded in less than a minute, thanking him for the information and promising a full chastising for skipping school once they both got home. Mildly amused, Robin clicked out of his email.

He glanced at the clock, stifling a yawn. It was almost time for the others to get out of school; Wally, Megan and Conner would come rushing in anytime now. Artemis would show up if she felt like it. Kaldur was on an assignment with Aquaman. The team hadn't had a real mission in weeks, and with Black Canary on leave, training sessions became a thing of the past. There was talk in the Watchtower about assigning another teacher, but nobody seemed eager to take up the position. Robin felt like their team had become more of a glorified club. Only nightly patrols with Batman in Gotham kept him from going insane.

Something flashed on the computer screen, catching his attention. One of the websites he had minimized was blinking, letting him know that it had just been updated. He clicked on it, pulling up the website for Central City's newspaper. A new story had appeared on the screen since he'd looked last; following the hyperlink to the full story, he started to read. Not expecting anything important, but not wanting to miss anything.

His eyes widened as he read, scrolling frantically through the article. _Central City Police Department reports the disappearance of Barry Allen, husband of Iris West-Allen, who called the police early this morning to report that her husband had been missing for two days. No one has claimed to know where he is currently. Police are investigating…_ "they better be," he muttered, skimming through the rest of the article. He was about to call Batman to ask if he'd seen it when another familiar name jumped out at him. Dinah Lance was mentioned in the last paragraph, said to have been missing for… "Almost two _weeks?_" He snatched up his cell phone and dialed Bruce's office number.

"Bruce Wayne speaking."

"Bruce! Really bad news. Flash and Canary—"

"I just saw it."

"Didn't you already know? Why didn't you say anything?"

There was a pause. "The League opted not to keep tabs on Black Canary—a decision I strongly opposed—so no, I didn't know. As for Flash, I was starting to get suspicious. In fact, I was planning on making a trip to Central if I didn't hear from him tonight. It looks like I'll have to go now."

"Let me come with you!"

"No," Bruce said firmly. "Stay there. Make sure Kid Flash doesn't go running off on his own. Tell him I'm doing everything I can and if he tries to interfere I will be _very _annoyed."

Robin slumped back into his chair, defeated. "Fine," he said, "but I want to know everything you find out. This isn't going to be like last time." _We don't want another Roy, _he thought bitterly.

Bruce seemed to pick up on his thoughts, and said reassuringly, "Don't worry. I'll keep you informed."

"Okay. Good luck." He snapped the phone shut and glanced at the clock again. Any minute now. He braced himself; Wally was not going to take this lying down.

_Recognized: Kid Flash, B-03._

Wally came speeding into the Cave, barely giving the security system a chance to announce his arrival. "Hey, Rob!" he said, wearing his signature ear-to-ear grin. "Playing hooky? You should've told me, I totally would've skipped to come hang with you!"

Robin sighed. _Here goes. _"Hey, KF. I have some bad news…"

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><p><strong>Woohoo. Glad I'm not Robin right about now. <strong>

**Haven't yet decided if I'm gonna kill anyone else off in this fic, but I might. What do my readers think? Should I, or not? Let me know! Also who/why/when/how. Just drop me a PM.**


	3. A Slow Night in Gotham

**A/N: this was a fun chapter to write. More like, utterly terrifying. Just saying.**

**On a different note, thanks to Rowanfall and Speedylove for your reviews on chapter 2 :) I appreciated them very much. I'm kinda sad that this story hasn't gotten more reviews, but I guess maybe it's just not the easiest story to digest? Whatever.**

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><p>Even Gotham had its slow nights.<p>

Robin crouched on a rooftop, gazing over the city, daring any thief or mugger to make their move. He needed a good fight right about now; nothing major, just something besides all this watching.

Batman was still investigating the disappearances; that morning, Hal Jordan had been reported missing, adding to the stakes. Bruce was getting frantic, though not many could tell. He hadn't slept and had hardly eaten in a week; he just kept pursuing one lead after the other and hitting dead ends at every turn. Robin had once again offered to help, but Bruce put his foot down. Someone needed to keep an eye on Wally. And Gotham still needed a protector.

So here he was, perched atop an abandoned church building and feeling about as useful as a gargoyle. _If something doesn't _happen _around here soon—_

A strangled scream pierced the night, coming from a back alley in a nearby ghetto. _Just what the doctor ordered, _he thought, springing into action. He used his grappling gun to swing from building to building, never touching the ground, laughing giddily whenever he jumped off a rooftop.

Another scream; this time he was able to pinpoint exactly where it came from. He made it there in a matter of seconds—and froze, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Artemis had stopped screaming, and he panicked when he saw the reason: Sportsmaster had a bowstring twisted around her _neck_. He was trying to strangle her. Her hands tore at her throat, nails digging furrows into her skin as she desperately tried to pull the noose away, to breathe— but he was too strong. Her lips had turned dark blue, and she was convulsing violently. Sportsmaster just pulled the bowstring tighter.

Rage welled up inside Robin. _Oh, no you don't. _He growled low in his throat and launched himself at Sportsmaster, landing a kick in the small of the man's back. He turned to face his attacker, letting go of the string and Artemis in the process. She fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath.

Robin barely ducked in time to avoid Sportsmaster's fist as it swung towards his face, and retaliated with well-placed jabs to the man's stomach, chest, and throat—blows that would have incapacitated most street thugs. Sportsmaster didn't even flinch. But he couldn't lay a hand on Robin, either; the Boy Wonder was too quick, too flexible. They sparred back and forth, neither gaining ground, tiring at the same rate. _If this is going to end, it had better be sooner rather than later,_ he thought. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Artemis, still lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. _Hang in there, tough girl_.

Suddenly, before he even registered that Sportsmaster had hit him, he felt himself flying backwards, crashing into the brick wall behind him. Dazed and disoriented, he slid down the wall, coming to rest on the ground. Sportsmaster advanced, moving in for the kill, but Robin wasn't done yet.

Something silver rolled to a stop at Sportsmaster's feet. A red light blinked up at him; he barely had time to widen his eyes before an explosion tore apart the night, blasting him back out onto the street. Artemis was thrown as well, colliding with Robin—who had just managed to stand up—and sending them both crashing into the wall once more. He faded in and out of consciousness for a few seconds; when the smoke from the bomb (and the fog in his brain) finally cleared, Sportsmaster had disappeared.

Too bad. Robin wanted to give him another piece of his mind for trying to kill his friend.

Artemis was still conscious, barely. He helped her stand, letting her lean on him when she swayed dangerously. An angry red line showed up viciously on her neck, like a brand, and her face was still deathly pale. Blood dripped from the crescent-shaped cuts in her neck that she'd inflicted with her own fingernails "You okay?" he asked, uncharacteristic concern in his voice.

"I'm not dead," she rasped, voice barely there—then doubled over, wracked by more violent coughs. Moans of pain punctuated the coughs. She was still clutching his shoulder; he could feel her fingernails digging into his skin through his costume.

"Come on," he said, "Let's get you home."

She shook her head emphatically. "Don't want… Mom… freak out…" she gasped, every word an agony.

He understood, and nodded. "Okay, then. We'll go to my place first." _Bruce is going to kill me._ There was nothing else for it; Artemis needed medical attention, not to mention a safe place to stay. He knew where she lived (though she didn't know he knew) and would have been apprehensive about leaving her in that part of the city without protection.

Supporting the half-conscious archer, he made his way to one of the safer sections of the city. He used Artemis's cell phone to call the manor, arranging for Alfred to pick them up outside a café, since Artemis wouldn't be able to walk all the way to Wayne Manor in this condition. He kept sneaking sidelong glances at her to make sure she was okay. She either didn't notice or didn't mind.

Robin's mind was churning; he hardly said a word during the drive, so deep was he in thought. _First Ollie, then Roy. That prison riot could've been planned… it would be easy to kill someone and make it look like an accident. And now Artemis… something weird is going on here. We know the Shadows were behind Ollie's murder. Or we think we do, but…_

"Why would the League of Shadows be targeting archers?" He wondered aloud. He was sitting across from Artemis at the dining room table in the Manor. She was wrapped in a blanket and a steaming mug of hot chocolate—which she hadn't touched—sat in front of her. She stared blankly into its depths, occasionally grimacing in pain and trying hard not to touch the stinging wounds. She hadn't tried talking since telling Robin she didn't want to go home, and she didn't think she'd be able to swallow anything for awhile. Hence the untouched chocolate.

But it could've been so much worse… if Robin had gone with Batman to investigate, she would probably be lying in a Dumpster right about now, another dead body to add to the list.

The thought was too much.

"R-robin," she choked, and he looked up at her, eyes suddenly full of concern.

"Hey," he said soothingly, "it's okay, it's okay. You're okay." _It was too close, _he thought. _If I _had_ gone with Bruce… _he shuddered inwardly at the thought, some part of him realizing that Artemis had just been thinking the same thing. "Just don't think about it," he said, as much for himself as for her.

He cleared his throat and started thinking aloud, trying to direct his thoughts away from what could have_—what had almost—_happened.

"We need to figure out why you were a target. Think about it: First Green Arrow, then Roy, and now you," Robin mused. "Why are they going after archers? It doesn't make any sense…"

Artemis left him to wonder, glad that he didn't expect her to say anything. She knew the real reason they had tried to kill her, and it had nothing to do with being an archer. She was a liability; she knew too much. With the League making investigations, their 'operative on the inside' was too close to the center for anyone's comfort. So they had tried to eliminate her. Her own father had tried to eliminate her.

Wally trudged into the kitchen. "Hey, Rob, I thought you were on patrol tonigh—" he stopped short when he saw Artemis sitting there. His expression hardened when he saw how disheveled and shell-shocked she looked. And when he took in the angry red wounds on her neck, he looked ready to boil over. Vibrating slightly, he looked from Artemis to Robin and back again. "What," he said, voice strained, "happened?"

Robin and Artemis exchanged a glance. "Sportsmaster…" Robin started, and trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

Wally didn't seem to need any more explanation, though. "Too close," he said, giving voice to what the other two had been thinking (and trying hard not to think about). "They're getting too close. What kind of game are they playing with us?"

Neither of his teammates had an answer.

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><p><strong>Okay, now I <em>really <em>need ideas. Probably gonna put this on the backburner for awhile unless sudden inspiration strikes. Or unless a large quantity of reviews convince me to continue ;)**


	4. Nightmares: Part One

**A/N: Okay, now this story has a full-blown plot, all planned out and everything, which means that it's now competing with Fallen Heroes for the top priority spot in my brain. Grrr.**

**Please review! I'm churning chapters out like crazy when I should be doing homework, so let me know someone's still out there reading! **

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><p>Artemis quickened her pace, half-jogging through the deserted city as she followed the elusive whispering. She had never known Gotham to be so quiet, so empty, and she would have been utterly mystified by it if she weren't so intent on tracking her quarry. She couldn't tell what the voice was saying, but she knew if she just caught whoever it was she'd find out.<p>

The whispering grew louder. _Yes!_ She was gaining. _Just around the corner. _She gripped her bow tightly, hands tingling with anticipation. She was jogging; then running; she flew around the corner—

And found herself facing a dead end. A red brick wall at the end of a shadowy back alley.

She knew this place.

She _knew _this place. Why was she here? She shouldn't be here!

She tried to take a step back, to turn, to run, but something held her fast. She couldn't move. Ghostly images appeared before her eyes, faint and watery, barely there. A scene unfolded.

She saw herself standing face to face with her father, glaring at him. They had been arguing; he had called her here because he said he had an assignment for her. But she wanted out. No more secrets, no more spying. No more plots. He had cussed at her, and shouted. She shouted back. If anyone out on the street heard, they paid no mind.

She remembered every detail with perfect clarity: the way his eyes hardened behind his mask, the way he tensed when she defied him.

She watched herself spin around and start to walk away, determined to have nothing more to do with him. And then she saw what she hadn't seen last time. She watched him unravel the bowstring from its coil; he stretched it out, holding an end in each hand, and reach out to wrap it around her neck. He pulled it tight, yanking her back. She watched herself struggling, frantically clawing at herself to pull the string away, remembered the panic, the agony… she brought her hands to her neck as she watched herself being strangled, the life ebbing out of her by the second…

_Robin's coming, though, _she thought. _Or, he came. Whatever, it doesn't matter… come on, any minute now he'll show up…_ _Why isn't he coming?_

She saw her ghost-self slowly stop struggling. The wraithlike image of her father let go of the string, and she fell like a sack of flour, quite obviously dead.

_No! It didn't happen like that! Robin was supposed to come! He was supposed to save me!_

"Funny how that happens, isn't it?" A voice said from behind her. "He must've left with Batman after all. Oh well."

She whirled around to face the voice, and the shadow-image dissipated. Instead, she found herself looking at someone very real. But it couldn't be…

He took a step towards her, and she almost passed out from shock. It _was _Roy. But Roy was dead…

She eyed him warily. He wore his costume, instead of the prison uniform she had last seen him in. His face was gaunt and hollow, his skin gray and cold-looking, and his body was covered in angry purple bruises. One side of his face glistened with dark red blood that dripped sluggishly from a small black hole just above his left temple. A bullet wound.

"This isn't happening," she said desperately. "This… you… you're not real."

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked darkly.

"Because you're dead. I—I _saw _you…"

He laughed hollowly. "Yeah, I know. But if I'm not really here, then what's going on?"

"I…" she looked around, suddenly realizing why it was so quiet. She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm dreaming, aren't I? And any second now I'm gonna wake up and forget about this freak show."

"Good job. But not quite. Look behind you."

She turned around, not knowing why she was listening to him. He wasn't real. None of this was real.

The shadow-image was back. She looked at herself, laying on the dirty ground like an old, discarded toy. Her neck was swollen, forcing the bowstring deep into her skin; her face was a puffy, blotchy red mask, her eyes wide and staring. "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, hating how her voice shook.

"Because you needed to see what almost happened. What _would _have happened if you hadn't been so lucky. Do you think the Shadows are going to give up and leave you alone because of one failed attempt? If the Shadows want someone dead, that someone usually doesn't last very long."

"Like I don't know that?" she snapped. "I haven't been able to think about anything else. I'm… I'm scared, Roy. Scared that next time my luck will run out."

He shrugged. Had she expected him to be sympathetic? "Makes no difference to me," he said coldly. "I didn't get a lucky shot."

She cringed. "Sorry."

"Doesn't really matter. You'll end up here sooner or later anyways. Probably sooner."

"What's your point, Roy?"

"You got a second shot. _What are you going to do with it?_"

"This isn't funny, Roy. You know as well as I do that if the Shadows are after me I won't last another week." She couldn't believe she'd just said that. Out loud. Even if it was in a dream.

"Not if you take them out first."

She laughed. "Brilliant, Roy. Really brilliant. _How?_"

"Figure it out." He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing eerily in the silence.

"Wait!" she shouted, starting to run after him, but suddenly a wave of swirling black shadows rose up in front of her. She skidded into the dark cloud, and the shadows stuck to her skin, pulled at her clothes, tugged her hair; the stuff seeped into her mouth and eyes, cold and heavy and tasting of ash. She struggled against the sucking darkness, but it pulled her in, enveloping her and all the while spreading to swallow up more and more of the city, until the whole world was nothing but a swirling mass of sticky black shadows.

She woke up screaming.

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><p><strong>See the little button down there? You should totally click it. Go on, I dare you. ;)<strong>


	5. Nightmares: Part Two

**A/N: Why is Batman so flippin' hard to write? Gah. And, by the by, I take back what I said in my first author's note about this story being less depressing... psyche! _every _chapter so far has been either creepy or depressing (or both). I must just have a really dark mind...**

**Oh well. If anyone can tell me how to fix Bruce's OOC-ness in this chapter, please tell me. I would dearly love to know.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or any affiliated characters. I'm just not cool like that.**

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><p>It was almost three thirty in the morning when Bruce stumbled through the door. Alfred, who had been dozing in a plush chair in the front hall, was at his side in an instant, worrying over him. Bruce waved him off and headed for the stairs, covering his face with one hand. He had to talk to Dick. Tell him the bad news. He gripped the railing tightly as he climbed, trying to steady himself.<p>

He had just reached the top of the stairs when an ear-piercing scream echoed from the room at the end of the hall.

A gust of air and a flash of color streaked from the guest room Wally was using. "Artemis!" the speedster shouted. Dick flung open his bedroom door and sprinted after him. "Hang in there, we're coming!" Neither of the boys noticed Bruce, who hoped for their sake that there was a _very _good explanation for this.

Artemis was writhing in a tangle of sheets and blankets, screaming her head off. Wally grabbed her shoulders and tried to keep her still, murmuring soothing words, while Dick pulled at the blankets, trying to get them to relinquish their hold on her. Slowly the screaming died down to a scared whimper, and she stopped flailing just as Dick managed to untangle her from the sheets that had been wrapped around her legs, trapping her. She opened her eyes, blinking slowly as the disoriented confusion of the nightmare wore off. She looked from Dick to Wally, slowly beginning to remember where she was. Then she did something completely unexpected; she wrapped her arms around Wally, buried her face in his chest and started to cry.

Wally looked at Dick, his eyes screaming _What's going on?_ Dick just shrugged; cautiously Wally put his arms around her shoulders, holding her gently to reassure her. "It's all right," he whispered. "It was just a dream. I've got you, you're okay." In spite of himself, Dick couldn't suppress a tiny smirk; this was just priceless.

"Dick," said a stern voice from behind him, and the smile slid from his face like water. _Crap. _He turned around, eyes downcast to avoid meeting the scalding glare he was sure Bruce was giving him.

"Bruce, I'm really sorry, I know I should've—"

"We need to talk," Bruce interrupted, not sounding furious like Dick expected. "…alone. Come with me."

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><p>He followed Bruce to the Batcave, getting more worried by the second. He almost wished he could detect some anger in his mentor, but instead everything—the set of his shoulders, the shuffling gait, the drooping head—everything spoke of sadness. Dejection, defeat, regret.<p>

They stopped in front of the giant computer. Absentmindedly Bruce started checking the security cameras like he did every night when he came home. He clicked through the images on the screen, seeing none of them.

With a deep breath, he turned to face Dick, who thought he knew what was coming. "You said you wanted to know if I found anything," he said, his voice hollow-sounding. "Well…"

"Who, and where?" Dick asked through clenched teeth. He steeled himself for the blow.

"Black Canary. Just outside Star City."

Dick let out a hissing breath. A knot formed in his stomach as his mind reeled. "How—"

"Internal bleeding… she was beaten to death."

Dick tried hard not to picture it— but it was no use. He swayed on his feet, nausea making him dizzy. Bruce caught him just before he fell over and helped him into a chair. He clutched his stomach; he thought he was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, "I shouldn't have been so blunt—"

"No, I'm fine," Dick said, but his shaken voice and trembling hands gave him away. Then he retched and doubled over, spilling the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

Bruce squeezed the boy's shoulder and waited for him to recover. Dick sat up finally, his face a pale green, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "S-sorry..."

"It's all right," Bruce said reassuringly. _I felt the same way. _

They sat in silence for a moment. Then: "Artemis. What happened?"

Dick squirmed uncomfortably. "Sportsmaster tried to kill her. He had a string around her neck—if I hadn't heard her, if I'd been any further away, she would be dead right now…" his stomach churned at the thought. "I thought she'd be safer here. I had Alfred come get us."

"And Sportsmaster?"

"He got away. I set off an explosion, and he was gone before the smoke cleared." _He'll be back. They'll try again. _"I know I should've cleared it with you first, but—"

"You did the right thing."

"Thanks." Shakily, Dick stood up and went to the stairs. "I'm going to go tell Wally and Artemis," he said with his back turned.

"Will you be all right?"

He sighed. "It's fine, Bruce. I can make it up the stairs." He left, his fading footsteps echoing faintly on the stone steps.

"That's not what I meant," Bruce muttered once Dick was gone.

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><p><strong>Poor Dick. He always seems to get stuck with telling everyone the bad news. Reviews plz! <strong>


	6. Uncertain Future

**A/N: Okay, last update for this story for awhile (and I really mean it this time) so that I can switch back to Fallen Heroes for a couple chapters. Can't do both death fics at the same time or I will get major confused. Anyways, hope you enjoy because this is it for now :)**

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><p>Dick slowly pushed the door open and crept into the room as quietly as he could. Artemis had cried herself to sleep in Wally's arms; he had just laid her back on the bed and covered her with the blanket when Dick came in.<p>

"Hey," he whispered, noticing Dick's downcast eyes. "What's up? You get in trouble with the Bat?"

Dick sat down on the edge of the bed. "Black Canary's dead," he said without preamble. It took Wally a few seconds to register what he'd just heard.

"Oh," was all he could say; he sat down with a small _thump_ on the floor, pressing his back into the wall. He looked up at Dick. "You promise you're not joking?"

Dick snorted. "I wish." If Wally asked how it happened, he would pretend he didn't know. Once again he tried to block the image of Black Canary's broken and mangled body from his mind—too late. His imagination was too vivid for his own good. He kept wondering what it must feel like to be… to be hit so many times, _beaten _so hard you died… he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He was going to be sick again if he kept thinking about it.

"The League _has _to do something about this now," Wally said after a while.

"They _are _doing something. Batman's been going nonstop all week—"

"Investigating is getting us nowhere. We should already be taking action against the Shadows—"

"We have no proof it was them."

Wally ignored him. "The _Shadows_ have killed three League members now—"

"Two," Dick corrected, "Roy wasn't in the League, and he was killed by the cops in that shooting. As far as we know the Shadows—or whoever—weren't involved."

"So what?" he exploded. "Are you saying that because he wasn't in the League that he shouldn't matter to them?"

"Wally, _shh!_" Dick gestured at Artemis, who stirred slightly, then carried on in a whisper. "Look, I'm just as upset as you about all this. Don't think I don't care—because I do—but I'm _just saying_ that, until we have something more to go on, there aren't many courses of action open to the League at the moment. Batman's doing everything he can."

"Well, it's not good enough!"

Dick glared at his friend. "Do _you _want to try your hand at _his_ job sometime?"

It was Wally's turn to avert his eyes; even in the dark he could feel the intensity of Dick's scowl. "No."

"That's what I thought."

It was a long time before either of them spoke.

Suddenly Dick remembered that Wally was here because his uncle had gone missing right after Black Canary. _He's worried sick, _he realized, _of course he feels like nobody's doing enough. _"Hey… sorry," he said through a mouthful of swallowed pride. "I didn't mean to be so harsh—I mean, I get it that you're worried about Barry and all."

"The worst part is not being able to do anything about it myself. And now that Canary's dead, what's to say Uncle Barry won't be next? I… I don't know if I could handle finding out about it the same way Roy found out about Ollie."

Dick had no idea what to say to this. "Batman will find him," he said finally. _I hope._

"Yeah. Thanks."

Silence fell again; Wally kept waiting for Dick to say something, but after awhile he heard the sound of heavy breathing, and when he looked, he saw Dick stretched out across the foot of Artemis's bed, fast asleep. He wondered if he should wake him up so they could both go back to their own rooms—but then he realized how tired _he _was. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. _Just a few minutes, _he thought, _I'll just rest my eyes and let him sleep for a few more… _He was asleep before he could even finish the thought.

* * *

><p>Bruce leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his face in his palms. He'd been sitting like that for almost an hour. Just sitting there. He was exhausted—he'd only slept one night out of the past seven, and that had been only about four hours—but his restless mind wouldn't let him sleep. For the past hour, he'd been mentally running through everything he knew about the murders of the Justice League members (which wasn't much) against every possible explanation he could think of. Every turn, every thought lead to a dead end. There just wasn't enough evidence, nothing to connect the murders except the affiliation of each of the victims to the Justice League. No clues left behind to suggest who was responsible, or even if the same person (or group of people) was responsible for all three incidents. But it couldn't possibly be a coincidence; any doubt he'd had about that had been cleared once Dick told him about Sportsmaster's assault on Artemis.<p>

Sportsmaster's involvement suggested the League of Shadows, but that didn't mean anything. Most likely he had been hired by another group, one who didn't want any possibility of being suspected. It could be a group he'd never heard of before. It could even be an individual. It could be _anybody. _Scores of people had reasons to hate the Justice League. The U.S. government was at the top of the list—

_Hmmm. I wonder…_

He lifted his head and tapped a button to wake the computer. The instant the security system recognized him and let him in, his hands were flying over the keyboard. It would take a colossal amount of evidence to pin this thing on the government, and there would be severe repercussions if he made any accusations that turned out not to be true. To be absolutely sure wouldn't be good enough; he'd have to _prove _it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He wasn't even sure if this would lead him anywhere. He wasn't sure he'd be able to piece together any more evidence out of the incoherent shreds of intel he'd gathered. But he had to start somewhere.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow. Major cliffie... oh well. <strong>


End file.
